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Published: August 20th 2008
I´ve composed myself differently on this trip.
After more than a few incidents where my Negrocity has been put on the heated front burner, I thought I was pretty well steeled against what had been anything from innocuous to blatant racism.
We´ll just say Medellin put this to a
leetle bit of a test.
Medellin: Home of the Beautiful Caucasians
With the promise of great nightlife and civic beauty, I´d headed to Medellin with Rob, a musclebound Canadian who was visiting from Ireland, with high hopes of...well...seeing pretty stuff and partying a bit.
While the city wasn´t exactly Florence, it had quite a bit of charm with ample greenspace and a lively air. After the horrors of the Pablo Escobar and the Medellin Cartel (over 40,000 policmen killed), the Mayor has made great strides to turn the city around and, in fact, there have been gains in an economy that isn´t solely based on narcotics. One rather novel accomplishment is the addition of a ski-gondola like cable car system to two lines of the metro that connect the poorer outlying barrios directly to the city center. It also makes for a really easy way to see the more visceral part of the city from the air.
Spires to the Sun
I don´t really know what these things were...but they looked suspiciously like Obiwan´s Light Saber.(For those who are LESS fearless/stupid/clueless than me...I´d probably woulda walked). In the gondola, I had a nice conversation with two of the barrio dwellers who happened to be taking a tour too. Interestingly, when I asked what the name of the supposedly beloved Mayor who had been accreditied with the civic improvements, neither could think of his name. Maybe beloved means don´t know who the heck you are in this part of the world...
After having the civic portion out of the way, Rob and I figured we would hit the nightlife portion. In addition, since our hostel was well located within walking distance to a plethora of clubs for the Medellin elite, I figured we were in for an epic night.
The preparty included walking around the square bouncing in an out of the random places without a cover. I did notice that there was a slight tendency for the employees to head toward Rob, but I can understand as I still apparently look Colombia. Let them go after them Gringo dollars.
It was at the main party spot for the night where I was treated like a diseased mule. Every person wanted to talk to Rob. I can understand that
Mucho Trabajo
Though in fairness, it was close to lunchtime... as he is alot different than what they see around there. If they lack the good taste to see my superManliness, that is on them.
What I couldn´t understand is why when I tried to translate for the monolingual Rob (I am STILL the quintessential wingman!) people pushed past me, looked disgusted and continued to chatter in ways that Rob didn´t understand. I figured they could have at least
USED the mule.
After about the 5th direct insult or slight, I started to catch feelings a bit...and No, not those weepy ¨No one likes me¨ feelings. More like Im´a Bash a Fucker´s
HEAD IN!!! type feelings.
Yeah. Almost went there.
When I noticed myself glaring at folk inviting disaster and pushing them out of the way with gusto and abandon (In another Country. With One guy who I had met a day before) I figured maaaaaybe I ought to get gone.
And so I did. Didn´t want to hurt anyone after all ;-)
In all fairness, the next night was better. Though I had the hardest time figuring if the girls in the club were prostitutes or not, one of them told me that she (a dark skinned Negra) couldn´t even get into that club.
Maybe I
should just chalk this one up to Bad Luck
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Tamara
non-member comment
Hey
Glad you got back safely.